Hello, My Darlings...

By the time you read this, Christmas Day will be over and the last of the Hanukkah candles will have been lit. I hope your holiday was joyful and that you are enjoying these days leading up to the New Year.

I'm writing on this Christmas Eve Eve and the last of my expected Christmas purchases has arrived at the office. I will wrap it and get it under the tree tonight. I definitely have visions of sugar plums dancing in my head. I am pretty proud of myself for having such a good attitude. Yesterday, I drove my oldest daughter, her husband and my 2 1/2 year old granddaughter to the airport so they can spend Christmas in New York with my son-in-law's family. I was upbeat all the way and only cried when I got back in the car. I came back to work only to learn that Joe Cocker had died. Very sad for one of his biggest fans. When I got home, I got a bill in the mail that threw me for loop. I could have let all this get to me, but I didn't. I reflected on the fact that I will indeed have Christmas with my children and grandchildren when my oldest one returns. We have postponed our Christmas, present opening and all, to the day after New Year's Day. It just won't be on the 25th, but it will be Christmas. I also remembered that I got to see Joe Cocker in concert about 7 years ago. He couldn't have been more amazing. And the bill? I will take a big girl pill and pay it.

As I get older, it takes more and more to make me distressed. One of the gifts of maturity is knowing how to manage and sort out things that don't feel good. At the same time, I have come to appreciate things that elevate my good nature and make me smile. A sweet friend of mine gave me the best present recently. She had given the same gift, a special handmade pair of earrings, to another one of our friends and I admired the gift greatly. I may have even whined a bit. I absolutely loved these earrings, so before long I had my own pair. They make me so damn happy. There is something about them that makes me forget when I am feeling sad or bad or conflicted. They are magical. I wore them today because I needed to and since they are really Christmas earrings, I am probably going to have to stop wearing them at some point and go cold turkey. I will find some more magic somewhere else. I always do. That's the trick to staying happy.

I will certainly wear my special earrings on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, which will be very different for me this year. Because one child was away, I encouraged the others to spend time with the husbands/boyfriends family. Whatever happens, it is all good. I think I have this grown up thing down pretty well. It gets easier all the time.

Be happy, healthy and full of love.

Nap Dance

I just returned from the most fabulous road trip vacation. My sister did all the driving and I was the navigator. It was all so perfect, yet I returned home completely exhausted. One of these days I am going to go away and do nothing but relax, contemplate my navel and return home revived and refreshed. I was pretty stymied as to why I was so dog tired when I got home. I honestly did nothing but have a wonderful time. We got up when we wanted and we did our sightseeing at our own pace. No pressure. No place we had to be at a certain time. Our biggest decisions each day were what we felt like eating and what we felt like seeing. Life was aimless and mindless and delicious, yet we came back feeling like our Cousin Clint’s 18-wheeler had run us over. We saw him and his lovely wife, Millie, on our trip and it was the best. Clint is an avid reader of my articles and I am so grateful to him for his love and loyalty. It feels so good to have a fan even if he is a relative. He doesn't have to read this stuff at all and he does!

Anyway, Sister and I returned on a Friday and even though I had fully intended to unpack, do laundry, catch up with the mail and try to explain my absence to my traumatized dogs and give them quality time, I only got the latter accomplished. It was then that I realized why I was so freaking tired. I had gone nearly 2 weeks without a single nap. Yes, I nap. When I got divorced and started my life as a single woman, I discovered the true bliss of napping. On a typical Saturday I would rise early, get my chores and errands done and when I arrived back home in the early afternoon, there were these two furry babies waiting at the back door for me. They had their "where in the hell have you been?" sad faces going on. I learned a long time ago that the best way for me to make it up to them for being gone for 4 hours is to head for the bedroom for cuddling time. I would fall off to sleep and they would guard me and keep the flying monkeys away. It was heaven and when I awoke in the late afternoon, I was a new Fifi. I could hit the ground running and actually have a night life. What a revelation this was. What a life changer! Before this cathartic moment, my last nap was on a mini cot in Mrs. Gordon's kindergarten class. Funny how something that used to seem like punishment when I was 5 is a guilty pleasure as a grown up. I have to thank Twinkie and Beau for showing me the way.

If there was a Pro-napping Movement, I'd be at the front of the parade. This habit has completely changed this girl and made it very clear that I need my naps, even on vacation. We had fun non-stop on our trip, but I didn't get one nap in along the way. I couldn't doze while Sister was driving; that wouldn't be fair and plus... I had a job to do. I was the navigator, the DJ and the one in charge of opening the Cheese Doodles. And if I WERE to fall asleep, my sister would have nudged me and told me that it was OK because she was planning on taking a nap too... without stopping the car. It's kind of our little joke.

The practice of napping isn't just for babies and geezers anymore. Presidents of the United States and captains of industry have long ducked out into private quarters for a mid-day nap; they just fancied it up by calling it a POWER NAP. I must admit that when I plan to stay late at LoveFifi.com, I sometimes sneak off to my private Fifi cave and grab a little power nap. The best part is that I have fantastic support from some of the most important members of my company. See Below.

Minimal Husbandry

I don't think it's any secret that I am divorced. I take care of everything myself or at least that's what people think. My house is in good order. Nothing is broken or in disrepair. My garden is lovely. My car is well-maintained. My finances are orderly. How do I do all this and still run LoveFifi.com? I couldn't do it without my husbands. That's right, my husbands... plural. Yes, I am indeed divorced. I was married for a very long time to a good man who honestly was best at making a living. He couldn't fix a thing. He didn't know a socket wrench from a screwdriver and had no desire to learn, so I figured out early on that if something broke, it was my job to find someone who could do the repair and not cost a fortune. It was kind of that way with everything. He was very important, so I took care of maintaining our life. I also had a career and a truck load of kids to take care of but I am not complaining. Actually in a weird way, my marriage prepared me for being single and on my own at this time of my life.

Back to my husbands. When you are in charge of a lot of "departments" let's call them, such as when running a household, you have to have a team of people that you can rely on at a moment's notice. I was always on the lookout for honest and talented people who could do the things we couldn't. I asked a lot of questions, nosed around a bit, and before long, I had quite a repertoire of butchers, bakers and candlestick makers who could take care of our needs. It got to the point that I had a killer list of plumbers, electricians, gardeners, handy guys and more who were tested and had my seal of approval. I was Angie's List long before Angie ever thought of it. If somebody I know needed a dependable person to fix or build something, or a good affordable mechanic or a tree trimmer, they would call me. The one thing that I was always most grateful for was that even when these guys got super busy because of my recommendations, they always took care of me and my family immediately.

Then comes 2007. I get a divorce. I buy a place of my own in another neighborhood. I am alone. It's not like I was married to a handyman and went through "fix it" shock as I was now used to finding someone else to do it. It turned out to be a blessing that I was married to the unhandiest man in the universe and it was then that I realized that I held the key to a happy life as a single woman. So once again, as I settled into my new life and my new home, I found talented and reliable guys to take care of the things that I can't do or don't care to do. Once I find someone great, I add them to my list, but this time I don't share them with the world. What I do is take care of them. I always offer coffee, cold drinks and food when one of my wonderful workers is doing something for me. I turn sports on the TV in every room in the house. They like to fix things for me and make me happy just like a husband does. That's what I have been told, but I have never been involved with a man who could fix anything so I wouldn't know for sure. But in apple pie America, that's what I hear goes on in homes.

So I affectionately call these men my husbands. It takes a lot of them doing everything really well to make me happy. No one man could ever come close and it works out well. I have my Handy Man Husband, Pete. He takes his coffee with heavy cream and two sugars. He has a key to my house and if something breaks, I can call him from work and he can fix it when I am not home. Sometimes I don't even see him and whatever it is gets fixed as if by magic. My Gardening Husband, Carlos (black coffee or Coca Cola... I stock both), not only trims, prunes, fertilizes my flowers, he fills up my bird feeders and waters for me when I am out of town. I have a Mechanic Husband, Sandy, who'd really like to be my husband, so I play it a little cooler with him. I don't know how he takes his coffee and I never will. I am just sweet and funny and give him lots of smiles and gratefulness. He has a giant crush on me and calls me personally to let me know when it's time for my car to be serviced. He has rescued me many times and done miracles so I wouldn't be without a vehicle. Believe it or not, I have a Manicure Husband, Kenny. Yep, the person who does my nails is a man. His beautiful wife Eve does my pedicures, so everything is Kosher. I do allow my husbands to have real wives, as long as they treat us both well. I have a Dog Groomer Husband, Jason. He delivers my dogs to me at the house if I need him too. I am his favorite customer because I have brought him a ton of business and he loves my dogs. I have a husband for every task a person has to endure to get things done. I don't know what collective noun you would use to describe my congregation of husbands. Well, it's a gaggle of geese, a pride of lions, a flush of ducks and a pod of whales. A herd of husbands, maybe?

Anyway, I am very well taken care of and I take very good care of my guys. All I need now is a husband husband who can devote his time to loving me, making me laugh, kissing me, hugging me and I will gladly do the same for him. And the good news is that he doesn't have to do much around the house. My husbands are all happily married, so I don't think much will change.

Honestly, finding a real husband for me is easier than finding, let's say... a good electrician. But finding a real husband would entail dating unless things have changed. I hate dating. You know, I think I will see if Angie can recommend a husband husband for me. Her recommendation service has come a long way and you never know.

Dog Days

Just in case you're wondering, I have pretty much recovered from the plague I had last week. I was sick the entire Memorial Day weekend, but it wasn't bad. I had lots of good quality time with my doggies, who never left my side.

Unless you haven't been listening, you know that I love dogs. Dogs are everywhere in my life and I could not live happily without them. As you also know, we all bring our dogs to work, here at LoveFifi.com, and it is fabulous. We have a big, two story building and the pups are allowed to be wherever they want, with whomever they want. There are dog beds and water bowls everywhere. This is a world I created and I couldn't love it more.

I live a happy life at home with my two babies. I am never lonely because they follow me wherever I go. What's funny is that when you are at the stage of life when your kids are gone, your dogs become your kids. I can't believe I said that, but it's true. Nothing is too good for my dogs. They sleep next to me at night. By the way, 42% of all dogs in the US sleep in bed with their owners. I have little dogs that weigh 5 pounds each, yet they still take up most of the bed.

I know I am perceived by some as a weird dog lady, but I actually wonder at times if I am a little peculiar. I dress my dogs and they look adorable. Listen, if it were odd to do so, then why are there so many places to buy cute dog clothes? Huh? I not only buy my dogs Christmas presents, but I buy gifts for the dogs of my friends. Before you throw stones at me, just know that 80% of all dog owners buy their pets gifts for holidays. And half of that number signs letters and cards from themselves and their pets. So if I am crazy, I am in good company. Speaking of crazy people, did you know that rock star Ozzie Osborne saved his wife Sharon's Pomeranian by tackling a coyote and wrestling it until it released the dog? Ozzie may be a little whack-a-doo to some people, but he is a hero to me.

The most popular names for male dogs are Jake and Max. For girl dogs it's Maggie and Molly. Although there is constant competition for the smallest and the largest dogs, 4" Boo Boo and Giant George are pretty amazing contenders. The oldest dog is said to be an Australian cattle dog who lived to be 29 1/2 years old which is equal to a human living to 160 years old.

My dogs are fantastic company and I couldn't be more content. Oh, I still date from time to time, but the best part of the evening is usually when I arrive home and my two doggies are doing the Happy Snoopy dance and are twirling around madly in circles at my feet. What man can compete with that?

And speaking of men and dogs, let me share something with you that was emailed to me. Made me smile. Oh, by the way, don't smile any big toothy grins around your dog. They interpret a show of teeth as a sign of aggression. Just thought I would share. Grrr...

Anyway, my girlfriend sent me this and I think it's really funny. Don't anyone get offended on me now or I will have to make these articles squeaking Disney clean. Even though I talk to my dogs in baby talk, we are grown ups here in Fifiland. Enjoy.

How Dogs and Men are the Same

Both take up too much space on the bed.

Both have irrational fears about vacuum cleaning.

Neither one will ever tell you what's bothering them.

Both have inordinate fascination with women's crotches.

Neither of them notice when you get your hair cut.

Both fart shamelessly.

Neither understands what you see in cats.

Sick Isn't For Sissies

Today is Thursday. I almost always put my brain meanderings into words on Thursdays to get them to you on Saturdays. I "marinate" on my topic throughout the week and put it all to bed on Thursday. The problem with this Thursday is that I am trying to put my article to bed in bed.

I am sick. Nothing terrible, just some kind of bug that my flu shot doesn't cover. The angst associated with feeling crappy comes not from the fact that I couldn't muddle through at the office when I have the flu, but it isn't fair to make everybody else sick, so I stayed at home and am working from my bed. I want you to get the mental image before I continue.

You know how in those 1940s movies when the lovely lady of the house was under the weather, you saw her propped up in her grand poster bed on sumptuous satin pillows with gorgeous bed linens covering her up to her lap. She was often catching up on her correspondence using a bed tray as a desk and wearing a stunning satin bed jacket. Her hair was coiffed to perfection. The maid would often times bring her tea and then fluff those sumptuous pillows before asking if Madame needed anything else to make her comfortable. The maid would then announce that Dr. McMurphy should be arriving any minute to look after the ailing lady of the house. Get the picture? It's nothing like that here.

My bedding is very nice and fluffy, but my two dogs are blanket and pillow hogs and I am lucky they share at all. There are no bed trays in sight, but there are at least 4 glasses on my side table that have accumulated since I took ill last evening. Add to that the array of cough drops, DayQuil, NyQuil, Kleenex and a box of Wheat Thins. I can never get that "feed a cold, starve a fever" thing straight, so I like to be prepared. I am not wearing a satin bed jacket. I have on a Dr. Seuss "Cat in the Hat " t-shirt and yoga pants. My hair is as far from coiffed as you can get with random bits sticking straight up. Dr. McMurphy won't be stopping by the house to treat me, but I did call my doctor this morning to try to get some help with fighting this crud. He can see me next Tuesday at 3:45p.m. The nurse apologized, but reminded me that it was the Memorial Day weekend. Of course it is. When else would I get sick but right before a three day weekend?

I have spent the day feeling awful, watching stupid things on TV and trying to figure out what in the hell I was going to write about today. My readers mean everything to me and I hate disappointing you ever. So instead, I dragged you along to my pity party. We are in this relationship through good and bad, sickness and health... right?

Hopefully I will feel better shortly and next week will be much more fun for everybody. Right now, I am going a little stir crazy and am considering going downstairs to the patio and breathing some fresh air. I am torn, because the dogs will move into my warm spot and I will have to jockey for a place to lie down when I return. Nah... I'll just stay in bed. If I go downstairs, guilt will compel me to carry some of these drinking glasses to the kitchen. It might be the fever but I think my maid should be here any moment.

Warmest Regards

Most every morning of my life begins with a big mug of freshly brewed coffee. I then curl up on the sofa with my dogs to watch the news. The top stories for days have been about the heavy snows throughout most of the country and the crazy unseasonably warm weather in California. I watch the footage of bundled up people trying to make paths to their homes and cars and can’t even imagine what that is like. I have friends and family who live in the Midwest and on the East Coast, and I know they are struggling just to get to work. It all makes me feel so guilty.

First of all, let me tell you that I am not happy about this heat wave. It has been high 70s to low 80s for 2 weeks now. I want my winter! When I say my winter, I mean the kind I have always known. Cool, crispy, sweater weather. I was born in Los Angeles and the only snow I ever saw was when my mom and dad would take us on a day trip to the mountains to build a snowman and throw snowballs at my siblings. I have always liked the winter months. I appreciate winter food, like soups and stews and hot chocolate. It is by no accident that I have never even rented an apartment that doesn’t have a fireplace and of course, I bought a home with a lovely hearth. I make a fire every night I am home from fall through winter. Unfortunately, I have to turn the air conditioning on at the same time in recent days.

It really plays with your mind and your time when the seasons don’t cooperate. Right after Thanksgiving I painstakingly put all my sexy sandals and blingy flip flops in storage to make room in my closet. Now it’s 80 degrees outside and I keep thinking it’s only temporary, so I am stuck wearing closed toe shoes until this damn weather figures itself out. I shouldn’t complain. I don’t have to shovel snow, or defrost my car door locks or do anything that most of the country is forced to do. Right now, I can sit out on my back patio with very little clothing on in January without being the slightest bit chilly. It may sound lovely if you live in Buffalo, but I get more than enough warm weather in the summer months. I have adorable wool hats and scarves just waiting to be worn and I am fearful that it may not happen. This ridiculous warm weather doesn’t seem to have an end.

I admire the pioneer spirit of all the folks who carry on their lives during snow storms. I traveled to the East Coast for business every 2 months for decades. I have had my fair share of trying to get around a snowy city to do business. I am no stranger to canceled flights and icy sidewalks. I remember my first experience with “black ice”. You don’t know it’s there until you step on it. It’s bad enough when it’s you, but when you watch elderly people doing bad James Brown impressions down Madison Avenue, it’s really sad. Although I am German, English and Scottish, I am just not built for snowstorms. The only blizzard I can deal with is the kind that comes from Dairy Queen. I am too much of a candy-butt to power through the snow on a daily basis.

All of you who treat it like part of life deserve all the rewards that come with it. I will never wake up to a white Christmas at home, or be able lay down in my yard and make a snow angel. I can’t cuddle up with my husband and watch the snowflakes fall while the fire roars. I actually don’t have a husband OR snow where I live, but it is far more likely that I will have a snowmobile in my driveway before I have the other.

When you don’t grow up in cold weather, you miss out on a lot. A few years ago, one of my dearest friends and I were had dinner in NYC. As we walked to his car so he could drive me back to my hotel, we kept going in circles until we realized that his car had been stolen. I saw him the next day after the theft, and the police had already found the car, stripped to the frame. The only thing he was upset about was that his favorite snow scraper was in the trunk and now it was gone. He went on and on about how this scraper was the best one ever with all the bells and whistles. So I set out to find him the most deluxe, amazing state-of–the-art-snow-thingy ever. Sounds simple, right? I walked into this giant hardware place and realized that I had no idea what one of these gadgets even looked like. I timidly asked a clerk where the snow scrapers were. He immediately asked me if I wanted one with a chisel or a snow brush. I said “yes” and pretended that I knew what he was talking about. I did have on a very stylish wool coat and killer cute faux-fur-topped boots, so I looked like I belonged. I went to the aisle he told me and I was more confused than ever. I finally had to bare my soul and confess that I was from LA and that I needed the Star Wars equivalent of a snow scraper for a very dear friend. After he got finished chuckling, I got a comprehensive lesson in the finest tools available to remove ice and snow from car windshields. I bought my friend the most spectacular combination ice chisel/snow brush with a telescoping handle in the most gorgeous shade of fluorescent orange. My friend was completely delighted and also very amused. I sang “Ice, Ice, Baby” and danced while he opened up the bag. Presentation is everything, you know.

I have always thought that there is something very romantic about snowy conditions. Ever since I saw Dr. Zhivago, I have been enamored with the thought of falling in love in bone-chilling weather. A hug has to be twice as delicious when two shivering bodies embrace and create mutual warmth. In the movies, when you see lovers toast with glasses of fine spirits on a cold night, you can feel the passion ignite as they sip and look into each other’s eyes. It just doesn’t happen that way on a warm California day in freakin’ JANUARY.

So, to all of you who are wishing you were in Southern California instead of say... Minnesota, stop wishing. It’s not so great. The flowers are confused. They think it’s April. The news even said that the bears are messed up and coming out of hibernation early because of this crazy warm weather. What’s worse, is that I am confused. Do I pack up my sweaters and Ugg boots? Do I reclaim my flip flop wardrobe from the garage? For now I will just send all my dear readers who are battling the elements bunches of love. Keep warm and know that I think you rock.

Miss Traditional

It’s Thanksgiving evening and I am alone for the first time today. I am tired, and ready for a hot bath and pajamas, but first I thought I would write my article. I am filled with sentimentality and warm fuzzy feelings, so here I go.

Okay, I confess, I never really got the significance of this holiday on a historical level. The Pilgrims and Indians thing is way over my head. But a holiday that gets families together and includes pie gets my vote.

I hope you all had a wonderful day with your families. I did. In case you are curious as to what Thanksgiving like at my house, let me explain.

Do you remember the TV show “The Waltons”? Think back on how mom and dad Walton and all the kids worked side-by-side preparing the traditional meal. Every family member did his or her part with a smile. And to make it even better, Dad always had an inspirational story of Thanksgivings past to share as they worked together in perfect harmony. Got the picture?

Thanksgiving at my house is absolutely NOTHING like that.

Are we the only family in America who always has to send someone to the market at the last minute to get some vital part of the meal? You’d think after spending nearly $300 in the first place that we would have everything we need. But not us, we always forget something and find ourselves at the mercy of the only open market in town. Is $14.99 too much to pay for a carton of whipping cream? Let me know.

Dinner is always good, although no one in my family is very good at carving. They need to teach this at university level, because obviously it is not intuitive. It seems to also be a “man” thing, by the way. My CPA brother-in-law did the honors, and though he meant well, the pieces were a bit large to manage. I honestly could have done a better job by simply just backing over the bird with my car, but I didn’t say anything. It was a really wonderful dinner, and though I didn’t think it was possible to use every dish, bowl and platter in the house, we did it.

I wish I could tell you that we entertained ourselves after the meal with the men teaching the young ones how to whittle while the women worked on a quilt, but I would be lying. The truth is we watched football on television. However the most fun of the day occurred when my mother-in-law discovered that her grandson had pierced his tongue. Now THAT’S entertainment!

I am going to bed now. My heart is happy. I spent the day with many of the people I love, and the ones I didn’t get to see today know that I love them and that they live in my heart every day.

I am off to my bath and my bed, but tradition dictates that I swing by the kitchen and make a turkey sandwich. How else would you end the national day of overeating?

Goodnight, my wonderful readers. Goodnight, my precious family and friends. Goodnight, John-Boy.

Nothing

I took a few days off recently to try to unwind. Life has been demanding and I found myself running on empty. I didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. I have always had a problem with knowing how to relax, so I decided I would just check out and go underground. I was going to stay at home and veg out. They say you live longer if you know how to take it easy. I had a boss years ago who is now in his eighties and plays golf and tennis several times a week. He believed that the secret to long life was simple. He believed that you should never stand when you can sit and never sit when you can lie down.

I felt it was high time I learned to relax. I took a day off on either side of a weekend. I told everyone that if they needed me I could be reached by text or voicemail. I shopped for food and sundries, did a few chores so I wouldn’t have a thing to worry about, and me and my dogs curled up on the couch without a care in the world. Our mission was to do nothing. It was barely 10 a.m. on a Friday morning and I could do whatever I wanted.

I have always worked. I have had at least a part time job since I was 13. Being at home on a weekday reminded me of growing up and having days off from school. I always wanted to plant myself in front of the TV, but my mom didn’t think that was a good idea and always found ways for me to use my time productively. I did get to watch The Price is Right because mom liked it.

So here I am, in MY home where I live all by myself. I have no deadlines, no commitments. Nothing, nada, zip... until I return to work on Tuesday. The only decisions I have to make are what I will have to eat and what to do with my time. Heaven!

I turned on the TV and switched the channels randomly until I came upon of all things... The Price is Right! It’s got a different host, but it is pretty much the same. It’s fun to play along and try to guess the prices of things, but I am really bad at it. I don’t know where they get the prizes, but they obviously don’t shop where I do. Everything seemed so expensive, but then again I haven’t bought a jet ski or a brass cappuccino maker lately.

I watched back-to-back various crap on TV all day long. I had a huge dose of celebrity news, although I didn’t know who some of the celebrities were. I watched an entire hour of paternity test results to find out who the real baby daddies were. I saw a rerun of Bewitched and snippets of dozens of other shows before I realized it was nearly 5pm. Whew! Where did my day go?

The one thing I learned about daytime television immediately is that the audience is divided into 3 basic categories. Moms that stay home, people who don’t have jobs and people who are WAY older than me.

Funnily enough, I learned about both the absorbency of baby diapers and adult diapers on the same day. Life is crazy, huh? You need them at the start and at the finish.

Throughout the day I was personally encouraged to think about a career in the medical field. The commercials are staged so it feels like they are speaking directly to YOU. It was very effective, indeed. A new career as a medical assistant was only a phone call away! It was thoughtful that these teaching academies were concerned about my future, but I am plenty busy just being Miss Fifi.

As you can see, I was just as fascinated by the commercials as I am with the programming. I was left with some guilt, however. I had no idea that the average funeral costs over $10,000 nowadays. Of course I don’t want to leave the burden of my funeral expenses to my children when for only $33 dollars a month I can leave them 10 grand when I croak. Here is the problem. I don’t want an average funeral, so can they figure out how much it will be with fireworks and a Motown cover band? I will have to find out.

It’s amazing how fast the day flies by when you are doing mindless things. Besides watching junk on TV, I played games on my iPad and read the magazines that have piled up.

I honestly don’t know if I am better off after my day of doing nothing productive. I don’t feel anymore rested. I did learn that when you watch a lot of daytime TV, it gives you so much to think about. It’s actually pretty exhausting. I spent Saturday doing chores and thinking about my day of brainless leisure.

As I loaded the washer, I pondered how I am going to get more fiber in my diet and wondered what else they can possibly do with Greek yogurt. Isn’t it crazy how when something catches on, everyone gets on the bandwagon? Maybe I should come up with a bra that can hold a cup of Greek yogurt between the breasts. What do you think?

After my day of daytime TV and relaxation, I don’t think it is for me. I am a little concerned that I lost a few brain cells so please tell me if you notice a difference in my articles.

Since I am not a stay-at-home mom or an unemployed person, I guess the category I fall into closest is senior citizen. Ugh! BUT... even though I live in a 3 level house, I am not even close to being ready for one of those stair chair lifts that I saw advertised repeatedly. My 10-year-old Malti-poo, Babydoll, would probably appreciate it, however. Nope, the old people commercials were lost on me, but I DO have to admit that those walk-in bathtubs are pretty awesome.

Driver's Education

I don't know if I have ever mentioned it, but I am not a big fan of driving. I must have been an heiress in my previous life because being driven just feels so much more natural. My grown kids know how to get on my good side when they make plans and then ask me if Miss Daisy would like to be picked up. Hell yes!

Unfortunately, I am still doing my own driving for the time being. It's not that I mind being behind the wheel. I have a very comfortable climate controlled car with music and news at my fingertips and a moon roof if I should ever feel sporty. It's what is outside of my vehicle that drives me crazy about driving. For me, driving means that I have to endure an unfathomable amount of stupid.

Let's start with billboard advertising. These big companies spend bazillions of dollars to get their brand across in the nano-second it takes a car to pass by. Wouldn't you think the content would be easy to read and their message understandable? A bit of cleverness might even make drivers-by remember what they are selling. I can't tell you how many times my sister and I have been stuck in bumper to bumper freeway traffic and one of us will point and say " explain that billboard to me". Most of the time neither one of us gets the message in stop and go rush hour traffic so I doubt that many drivers are getting inspired to try the product at 65 miles per hour.

So even if I am not distracted by lame billboards, there is still so much going on to make my drive aggravating. People do crazy things while driving. It is illegal to hold a cell phone and talk yet I see people doing it all the time. What is it about the term "hands free" that is so difficult to understand? I see drivers blatantly holding their phones and talking. What could possibly be so important that you would risk the lives of others and not just pull over? What about the folks that hold their cell phones low in the palm of their hand with the screen facing towards the sky? Now that's a natural looking pose. The only other time a human holds their hand like that is when they are clutching a deck of cards and getting ready to deal 5 card stud. Yeah, I bet the police haven't figured out that you're on your phone.

We all know that we should never text and drive. The public service announcements make a strong point. But how about all the other inane things people do while they are driving that no one ever talks about? In all fairness, I will gender-ize what I have seen. Men first. I have seen guys reading the paper, brushing their teeth, and shaving while driving. As far as the ladies go, we do violate the cell phone rules at least as much as the men, but we tend to do things like putting on mascara etc. at stop lights. I admit to refreshing my lip gloss or reviewing my "to do" list while the car is stopped and I am waiting for the light to change. Women are notoriously better multi-taskers than men, so it is understandable that women may be able to perform womanly or motherly duties safely while behind the wheel, but even the fairer sex has been known to step over the bounds of good sense. Nothing illustrates this better than when my sister was stopped at a signal and the woman behind her rear ended my sisters car. The ladies pulled over and once they assured each other that no one was hurt, the woman admitted that her foot slipped off the brake pedal while she was trying to pump breast milk. True story. I can't make stuff like this up. The girls and cars were fine and they both had a good laugh.

I will continue to do things while waiting at signals. I am good at it and I never have to worry about knowing when it is time to go because there is always some impatient ass behind me who will hit the horn the second the light goes green.

Because there is little hope that i will have a chauffeur in the near future, I have found ways to engage my brain as to make my journeys more like learning experiences. It is increasingly more curious to study the cars and the people who drive them. There are human behaviors attached to what people choose to drive, you know. Vehicles can't speak, but yet....they do.

Big trucks and SUV's are the alpha dogs of the highway. Because they have big cars, these drivers think they own the road. I find it best to just let them have their way. Their bullying egos, rising gas prices and karma will do them in eventually. Trust me. No one needs a car the size of a 747 and those who indulge in the "bigger is better" philosophy will pay the price one way or another.

Some women who drive fancy foreign cars have very much the same kind of attitude. Their car is an extension of who they are. How sad to let your automobile define you. Ok, I need to rethink that statement. I would never lie to you. If I went to my garage and found that the Bentley fairy left me a brand new white one, I would let my car define me without hesitation. I'm just sayin'.....

Don't you love those "kid cars "? You know, the ones made for the youth market. Some of them are really cute. The Soul, the Cube and those adorable Fiats all just scream young and moving on up. When I was in my 20's, there weren't special cars or a niche market for my age group. I was lucky to get my Aunt Helen's Ford Falcon on a payment plan.

See, my time on the road isn't for naught. I have used my drive time wisely but it's still not my favorite thing to do. You can learn an awful lot about this country and it's people by just looking out your car windows. Yes people, and let's DO remember that the drivers seat is surrounded by windows and others can see in. Keep your hands on the wheel and out of your nose. Ladies, keep you skirt pulled down and your knees together. My cousin is a long haul trucker and he has seen more body parts by accident than he cares to share.

Until next time.

P.S. Drive safely. We have a date next week.

Pioneer Days

I was lying on the massage table at my spa over the weekend, having my troubles and woes kneaded out of my old body, when I realized that something was terribly wrong. My massage therapist was rubbing me just right, the oil was my favorite orange scent, the lights were low, the blanket over my body was pre-warmed, and the candles were flickering, but why was I not enjoying it like I usually do? OMG, there was no music! When I mentioned it, my masseuse apologized profusely and let me know that the system had gone out and would be fixed the next day. I didn’t say much but I couldn’t stop thinking. I was all out of sorts because there were no flutes and violins. No birds chirping, no sounds of the ocean blended with symphonic music. All I could hear was my massage girl breathing heavily as she pummeled my back and the occasional sound of the oil being “farted” out of the plastic bottle. Something inside of me wanted to be irate about not getting my monies worth, but the nice girl that my parents raised kept me from saying a word. I sobered up pretty fast in one terrifying moment when I realized that I could have been born in pioneer times and I would never know the bliss of being pampered at the spa. The only pampering I would have gotten back then was finally getting to sit down after a 14 hour day of spinning yarn, making soap from animal fat, and doing the laundry in a stream.

I laid there and had a silent talk with my inner self. Myself and I talked about how it was not a big deal that there was no music and I felt a little ashamed. I am a lucky girl to live now and push a button to do most anything. The pioneer image kept creeping back in my thoughts and I could only feel grateful for not being chosen to live during that time. Someone must have known that although I am a tough cookie, I would have completely sucked as a pioneer woman.

These ladies had to do everything from scratch. If the family was to have biscuits and butter and jam, they made the biscuits, often over a campfire. I can’t even imagine trying to bake biscuits over an open flame. It’s hard enough to get the dough completely out of the can no matter how exactly I whack the damn tube until it pops. They would churn the butter and make the jam out of berries they grew themselves. Think about it… no gas stoves, no refrigerators with ice and water windows, no dishwashers, no grocery stores. If the poor things actually did get to relax in the evening, they would use the time to mend the clothes or read over candlelight from candles they made themselves. And they did all this and more wearing voluminous skirts to the floor which was de rigueur pioneer chic. And yes, they made these ensembles themselves.

My massage was coming to an end and my masseuse laid her hands ceremoniously on my back to indicate the end of the session. I thanked her, and as she thanked me for being her loyal client, she again apologized for the absence of music. As I told her I barely noticed, a scary vision of me sweeping the floor of my covered wagon with a broom that I fashioned out of pine needles popped into my head. As I quickly pushed that mental image away, I assured her that the massage was perfect.

I get my life lessons from little things and I am changed forever. It is ok to be spoiled, but you need to appreciate it with your entire being. Soooo… if you ever get bratty, just imagine life on the prairie. No air conditioning, no water for a bath, mattresses made from scraps of cloth and chicken feathers, no TV, no iPad. Are you getting it? Good. End of sermon.

This Little Fifi Went To Market...

There is probably no task that I hate more than going to the grocery store. If I ever win the lottery, the first thing I will do is hire an assistant that goes to the market for me.

When I was raising a family, I took food shopping much more seriously than I do now. It was part of being the mama lion and nurturing my family and nobody did it better than I did. I used to shop with a shoebox full of carefully catalogued coupons. I was constantly clipping the cents-off coupons from every magazine and newspaper I could get my hands on.

On marketing day, I would spend hours going up and down the aisles stretching every dollar as far as I could. I often filled up two baskets to the brim. At the end, I turned in all my coupons and tried to guess what my savings would be. It was a game to me and I was good at it.

As I stood by the open tailgate of my “mom van” (yes, I had one of those, but please keep it to yourself) and watched the box person load bag after bag of discounted grocery items, I felt such pride. I stood there clutching my yards of register tape as triumphantly as if I had just won an Oscar.

I would spend hours going up and down the aisles stretching every dollar as far as I could.

Grocery shopping was a huge deal back in those days. It took the better part of a day to accomplish and you had to have an unstoppable rhythm. I also learned early on that your success as the household shopper had to have a set of stringent rules.

Rule #1 - You NEVER let your husband go with you. Despite the fact that he is good for any heavy lifting of 50lb. bags of dog kibble or the ginormous size laundry detergent, there is no amount of budgeting and coupon clipping that will offset what he sneaks into the basket. It does you no good to scrimp and save and wait for double coupon day, if you end up with garlic-stuffed cannonball olives, an extra large bag of beef jerky, and Macadamia nuts carefully concealed and then revealed at checkout. Men can’t help it, so leave them at home.

Rule #2 - Never ask if anyone needs or wants anything. When you shop with coupons and are a slave to sale items, no special requests. They get what’s on “special” and the fact that someone else is filling the cupboards for their eating pleasure is special enough. Let your family know not to fall in love with anything you bring home, because they might not get it again.

Rule #3 - If you are shopping for a lot of people, it’s a very tiring job. I believe that the shopper is entitled to at least one food favorite as a reward for all their good work. I love Fig Newtons and tried for years to find a hiding place that no one could discover. I sucked at it, because when I was ready to relax with a cup of tea and some Newtons a few days later, I would go to the hiding place in the kitchen to find an empty Nabisco package. Kids and husbands have food radar. I should have hidden them behind the ironing board or behind the folded sheets in the linen closet. Not a chance anyone in my family would have found them. You live and learn.

Those days are all behind me now. It’s just me and the dogs. Although I haven’t clipped a coupon in a long time, I still hate going to the store for a whole different reason. Now instead of calculating how much I am paying per ounce to get the best bargain, I calculate if I will be able to eat it or use it before I die.

I usually only make myself go to the store if there is nothing for my dogs to eat and/or there is no creamer for my coffee. Once I am there, I am THERE, so I just move down the aisles as fast as I can. There are no bargains for people who live alone. I don’t need a multi-pack of anything and I don’t want to carry it. I get the essentials, fruit, vegetables, English muffins, milk, eggs, Brie, wine, etc.

Nowadays you bring your own bags for the groceries. I am grateful I did the family shopping in the paper or plastic days or I would have to have brought a complete set of Samsonite. I keep my purchases down to a minimum because I like the convenience and speed of the 15 items or less lane. Nothing aggravates me more than people who abuse this. Often times there is still a line but I keep myself occupied by counting exactly how many items each person puts on the conveyer belt and plotting their death if they go over. It’s not the healthiest thinking, but it keeps me completely amused until it’s my turn.

By the way, don’t ever get talked into doing Self Checkout. It’s some kind of trick. First of all, it’s not that convenient or easy. The people who do it easily think they are so cool; they really think they are brilliant. If you look befuddled or don’t go fast enough, the Self Checkout “associate” comes around and flippantly pushes the start button and shows you how to swipe the bar code and then disappears. You start off fine and then you make the mistake of touching the bag at the wrong time and get scolded by some automated voice. I tried to do this before, but if you don’t do it quickly, the guy behind you in the flip flops with a 12 pack of Corona gets antsy and makes you nervous.

The last time I tried to do this, I bought some produce that was missing its sticker and I didn’t know how to continue. Out of nowhere comes the “associate” to help. I don’t know where the Self Checkout helpers fall in the hierarchy of grocery store employees, but these are not happy people. I described my produce problem and she gave me a look that clearly said “Moron!”, shrugged her shoulders, and pushed me out of the way. She made a clicking noise with her tongue while rolling her eyes in disgust. Then she whipped through several screens, pushed too many buttons and asked me for my debit card. She “helped” me complete my transaction and gathered up my bags abruptly, handed them to me and motioned towards the door. Then that brat actually told me to “enjoy the rest of my day”. If I was going to clean the garage for the balance of my day, it would be much more enjoyable than my experience with those people in what I now fondly refer to as “Self Righteous Checkout”.

I think I have let off enough steam for one day. Now I shall go relax with a nice cup of tea... and Fig Newtons.

Woman Of The Cloth

You already know that I am quirky, so you won't be shocked by my next admission. As I was ironing my cloth napkins over the weekend, I had sweet thoughts of my mother teaching me how to press them just so and stack them when I was a girl. Just in case you think I was preparing for the holidays, I wasn't. I use cloth napkins at my house every day, even though I am usually the only one dining.

Now when I say "dining" I am referring to any kind of eating at home. If I have a peanut butter sandwich, I use a cloth napkin. You have no idea how elegant a PB&J can be when you wipe your lips with real cloth.

Believe me when I tell you that switching to cloth can even make eating a Hot Pocket on the couch feel sophisticated.

Think of how it feels when you go to a fancy restaurant and the waiter takes your starched napkin, unfurls it dramatically, and places it in your lap. It's special... and you probably sit up straighter and look forward to your meal with greater anticipation. I get the same feeling when I use cloth napkins at home. I skip the unfurling part because it scares the dogs, but the feeling of cloth in my lap instead of paper makes me feel like a queen.

I really hate it that with most people, cloth napkins have become something for only special occasions or 5-star restaurants. Believe me when I tell you that switching to cloth can even make eating a Hot Pocket on the couch feel sophisticated.

It is really no big deal to throw a weeks worth of napkins in the washer. The ironing part takes no time at all and sometimes I can just kind of smooth them with my hands. It's all worth it when you sit down to eat. And when you have a guest? Just watch their faces when you hand them a cloth napkin to go with their coffee and bagel.

I guess I am just a tactile person. I love thick towels, soft sheets, and lofty comforters, as well. Thank goodness the same people who make paper napkins and paper towels didn't tinker with converting other cloth items into disposable paper. Can you imagine getting out of the tub and tearing off a big wide piece of perforated paper toweling from a big roll? I wince at the thought. The best part of bathing is the "hug" you get when you wrap a towel around yourself.

I had a dreadful experience once that proves that this is so true. I was staying in a friends guest house which was located about 100 yards from the main house. I was happily taking a hot shower and did not realize until I got out - dripping wet - that the host had forgotten to restock the bathroom with towels since the last visitor. Not wishing to damage the wood floors in the cottage, I turned to my survival instincts. I got back in the shower and shook my tailfeather and a few other things to get as much water off me as I could. I then stepped out and used most of the box of Kleenex on the counter. I got dry enough to race to the bedroom and finish up with my sweatshirt. I have worshiped the feel of bath towels since that day.

Granted, some things make much more sense made out of paper. Motherhood has become more convenient and less stinky with the advent of disposable diapers. Although good handkerchiefs are very old school and romantic for both men and women, I never liked the idea of carrying around a booger-y hanky all day. You can only use it once before it is disgusting. I like my tissues, thank you. Now, if you want to give paper a real round of applause, lets hear it for toilet paper! Before it's invention, people used everything from leaves to corn husks to do the job. French royalty used lace, which sounds nicer, but still terrible. I am grateful for my ultra thick, 2-ply, kitten soft, toilet paper, but I am still opposed to the use of paper napkins in the home.

I imagine that I hold on to some of "old school" ideas because I really don't love it that the whole world has gotten so casual and forgotten how some things can make simple everyday occurrences more pleasurable. Maybe I've seen too many 1940s movies where ladies do ladylike things like write their daily correspondence on real stationary with their initials embossed on it. Now women just dash off an email or a text message if they want to say something. They don't even take the trouble to write whole words these days. Is anybody THAT busy that they don't have time to write "you" instead of just "U"? I am pretty sure that I won't have much luck convincing these same people to use cloth napkins, but it's their loss.

Think about what I'm saying. Think about buying some napkins made of real cloth to use every day. I promise that you will see what wonders it does for your sense of well being. It will make you feel regal and elegant, even if you are eating a Lean Cuisine and watching Family Feud.

Trust me on this one.